Bogs Too Deep
So soft and smooth and pale, your skin
barely hides the blue evidence of your beating
heart. The thought of the passion within
fills my soul until my mind retreats into the
safety of divine conversation.
Elation every time I've got you beat.
Elation every time I lose. I don't want to lose
my grasp on my own self-avowed holiness.
I don't want to lose the thrill,
the chill that fills me when you brush up against me.
Accidentally,
of course.
It's gone far beyond
what I first decided upon:
You were a substitute;
I needed something from you.
And true, that may be.
But you are you.
I am I; we are we.
Maybe
I want you just because you're lovely.
Maybe I want to hold and protect you
because there's no one else to do that.
At least that I can see.
Maybe it's as simple as your warming smile.
Maybe you've beguiled me just because you're you;
because you're beautiful.
But no; that can't be.
Be careful, Jamie, you wander bogs too deep.
I can't see the sin in me.
It's hidden, now.
I don't want to see it anyway.
Anymore.
I long to store these ingrained ethics
in the bed-end trunk of my life.
Tonight,
all I want is her--
the ivory skin with ocean veins.
It's been done before.
It'll be done again.
The struggle inside directs even my words.
I've heard what it could be;
I've listened inside me;
I've known . . .
But not you.
And--oh!--how I want to
summon the courage
to touch you
and love you
as you've touched me.
And all unknowingly.